


Windswept

by WhatIfYouFly



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mental Health Issues, No Sex, Post-Canon, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Seaside, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Walk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatIfYouFly/pseuds/WhatIfYouFly
Summary: The ineffable husbands have settled into their new life in the South Downs but Crowley is struggling and Aziraphale does not know what to do. On a stormy afternoon they decide to take a walk along the coast.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 131





	Windswept

Crowley was restless. He had already created a mess in the kitchen in an attempt to clean the dishes without miracles, watered every single plant in the cottage and rummaged around in the depths of a closet for half an hour until he found a pair of sunglasses that he had already written off months ago. But finally his aimless wandering had led him back to the living room.

Two of the walls were occupied with spacious wooden bookshelves, leaving just enough room for a heavy, fringed carpet on the parquet floor. A window opened the view to a vast South Downs field, its ears swaying heavily in the strong breeze coming from the near coast. Towering clouds in various shades of grey chased each other across the sky above.

Aziraphale sat in the most comfy armchair of the house and was snuggled into a tartan blanket. He was wearing a pair of (in his opinion) very nifty reading glasses and a knitted woollen jumper. Only every now and then he moved to turn a page or carefully place his teacup on the windowsill next to him.

He had heard his demon bustling about for the past hours but was determined not to interrupt his reading just yet. The book was a recent aquisition from a local antiques sale they had visited together. Crowley had found a lovely vintage rack for the growing number of plant pots in the garden while he himself had browsed through crates of books, occasionally startling the innocent bookseller with some very specific queries.

The loose floorboard by the door creaked, followed by a few indecisive steps into the room. Aziraphale looked up from his book: “Hello, dear”, he said, lovingly. Crowley responded with a lopsided grin. “Why are you looking at me like that?”, the angel inquired. “You haven’t moved an inch since I left the room two and a half hours ago”, came a slightly teasing answer. “Well, this is the most fascinating historical novella”, Aziraphale said, beaming, and held up the book. “The author lived in Portsmouth in the 18th century and writes about the history of Carisbrooke Castle…” He merrily prattled on about some of the historical intrigues and affairs of the court before lowering his eyes back to the book.

In the meantime, Crowley had flopped down on the sofa, one foot still on the floor, the other dangling over the armrest. In the sheltered privacy of their home, he had switched his blazer for a cosy black jumper that offered more protection against the rough weather. The dark skinny jeans were the only fashion item on which he still insisted. His look was completed by a pair of Aziraphale’s fluffy striped socks he had nicked from him this morning.

The angel turned another page, once again immersed in the history of the local area. Within minutes Crowley propped himself up on his elbows - which, given that his foot was still hanging from the armrest, resulted in a quite human-anatomy-defying position. “Sundays are SO boooring, angel. How can you focus on that book for so long?”

There was some good-natured gibe in the rhetorical question, but also a hint of frustration. Since the failed Armageddon and the concomitant physical and mental exertion, Crowley found it hard to focus on anything for an extended period. He was unconcentrated, and usually doing at least two things at the same time, scrolling on his phone while watching something or listening to a podcast. If he did not keep busy, ugly thoughts and memories started spinning in his brain like a constant fuzzy swirl of noise.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, was a pillar of peace and quiet in their cosy cottage. Seeing his angel so at ease made Crowley’s heart swell with pride and affection. Since their trials and their rebellion against heaven and hell, Aziraphale had comfortably slipped into a state of calm self-confidence. He was unapologetic about his passion for food and books and had happily settled into their life together.

Crowley did not know what he of all people had done to deserve this much domestic bliss but he was determined not to ruin it. They had saved the day, saved themselves and saved each other. They had earned this. But even though he would never have admitted to it, he was struggling. The tiniest everyday obstacles often seemed insurmountable. He was constantly tired but at the same time too on edge to rest. It had been alright while they had to organise the move and were busy getting settled - but the more quiet and peaceful their surroundings got, the more Crowley felt himself sinking into a deep dark hole. He felt helpless and guilty. Why could he not just move on and enjoy this, and more importantly, let Aziraphale enjoy this?

As if on command, the angel looked up from the book and met his unfocused gaze. “Maybe we should do something, dear”, he suggested, “We could play some chess or get started on dinner - what do you think?” Crowley did not answer immediately and seemed to fight with himself. Aziraphale had already abandoned his reading for him, he should not ask him to sacrifice even more of his comfort. Yet, he felt trapped in the house and the prospect of sitting inside for the rest of the evening was nothing short of stifling. Aziraphale looked at him expectantly but without impatience. Finally, the demon pulled himself together and asked: “Could we go for a walk?”.

Whatever Crowley told himself, Aziraphale was not blind and he had watched his demon’s struggle with growing concern. Usually, Crowley was sharp, energetic and always had some harmless mischief up his sleeve. But since their life had quieted down, he seemed twitchy and exhausted and Aziraphale got the feeling that he was pulling himself together for his sake. When left to his own devices, he often found him either clambering about without rhyme or reason or doing nothing at all. It was painful to watch his demon suffer like that but he felt helpless. Whenever he entered the scene, Crowley got a grip on himself and put on a nonchalant face that was not half as convincing as he probably believed.

The wind blew a few drizzly raindrops against the window. Aziraphale took a brief look at the uninviting weather but quickly peeled himself out of the blanket and armchair. He reached his hand out to help Crowley up: “Sounds lovely, dear.”

***

Crowley stepped out of the front door onto the field path that connected the village with the coast. As soon as the first gust of wind swept through his ginger curls, he could feel some of his inner tension drop away. He took a deep breath and listened for the sound of the ocean waves in the distance. “You might want to put on a scarf, angel, ’s pretty chilly!”, he called, turning back to the cottage.

The angel in question had already wrapped himself up in a warm coat that Crowley knew to be at least as old as the cottage itself and joined him on the path. Together, they headed for the coast through a billowing field. The rain had stopped except for a few fine drops here and there and their boots left dark prints in the damp earth.

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley who was gazing into the distance absent mindedly. He seemed less nervous now, out in the open, wind ruffling through his hair. And yet a bleak expression was hanging over his face like a dark shadow. After some back and forth and under the promise that there would be no other strollers they could run into, the angel had persuaded him to leave his sunglasses in the pocket of his coat. Aziraphale loved the demon’s amber eyes and found his expression much easier to read if he could see them. He took it as a good sign that Crowley had been so easily convinced.

They arrived at the border of the field where the path ended in a stretch of grass. A few hundred steps later they reached the shore. Below them, waves were crashing into the chalky cliffs and the air was filled with the salty spindrift. For few minutes they looked out at the rough sea, quietly. Then Crowley turned towards Aziraphale: “Thanks for coming along, angel.” “Of course, dear. Do you feel better?”, came the instant reply. He shrugged: “There was nothing wrong in the first place. Was just bored. Everything’s just fine.”

Aziraphale sighed and said in a quiet, almost pleading tone: “Crowley, I can see that you’re not fine. You haven’t been for weeks and it’s breaking my heart to see you struggle alone like that. I want to help you but I need to know what’s wrong.”

A part of Crowley had hoped Aziraphale would say something like that. The same part of him that had made him ask the angel to come along for the walk and that had been easily convinced leave off the sunglasses. But there was another part, a part that had been conditioned for thousands of years to never lower his defenses. Vulnerability was weakness and weakness was dangerous. This mantra had kept him alive in the face of literal hell but now there was no threat anymore. And now he could feel this dark, ugly part, that only knew survival mode, slowly gnawing away the last bits of his soul until there was no feeling left.

He could not do this anymore, not alone.

Crowley swallowed and took a deep breath of fresh, salty air: “Angel, I’m sorry. I haven’t been myself. I’m just so tired.” He looked at Aziraphale helplessly and the angel furrowed his brow. “Sorry? What on earth are you sorry for?”, he asked.

“I’m…, I’m spoiling it. Our happy ending, I mean. We won, right? I’m supposed to be happy but I can’t get my blessed act together, I’m…” He swallowed hard and the angel interrupted him: “Is that why you never said anything?” “I didn’t want to ruin this for you, angel, I…, Didn’t want to put you off. You deserve to be happy.”, he answered in a weak voice that did not feel like his own. The lump in his throat seemed to grow bigger until he was certain that no word could possibly squeeze past it anymore.

Aziraphale seemed to notice and said firmly: “I’m only happy if you’re happy too, Crowley. And whatever you’re struggling with, we can work it out together. You don’t have to put on a brave face for me, I always want to know how you are, especially if you’re not well. Together we can fix anything. You are not too much, and you are never a burden - don’t even think it. You spent your entire life getting me out of trouble, why would you think I’d abandon you, now that you need me? I love you, Crowley, and that means I’ll always be there to support you. Always.”

Crowley had turned his face away during the last sentence and was now looking out to the open sea. For a few seconds the silence between them was only filled by the waves crashing into the cliffs beneath them. Aziraphale shifted uneasily. Maybe he should have said something earlier, what if he… But at this moment, Crowley turned around and to the angel’s shock tears were glistening in his amber eyes. Without a further word Aziraphale pulled him into a close embrace. Crowley held onto him for dear life and buried his face in his collar. “I love you too, angel.”

They stood like that for a long time and when they finally headed back to the cottage hand in hand, the wind had cleared the sky and the first stars were up to guide them home.

***


End file.
